


Ghost on the Shore

by ZammyShad



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Dealing with grief is hard and sometimes you just wanna be happy, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Male Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), My WoL doesn't want to believe what's going on and is helplessly in love with Ardbert send help, Patch 5.2: Echoes of a Fallen Star Spoilers, Rating will go up eventually, There's a lot of kissing in this and lots of doubt, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZammyShad/pseuds/ZammyShad
Summary: Something coils tight in Z’ahzi’s stomach, something he pushes down, down, down, down until only faint traces of unease make themselves known. He needs rest, as Ardbert had said. He’ll be fine once he wakes, he knows.There are no dreams that night. Z’ahzi wonders what that means.
Relationships: Ardbert & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Ardbert/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 39





	1. On a Fallen Star

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StormDriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormDriver/gifts).



He’s back.

He’s alive.

He’s -

_Not real. ___

____

____

All those dreams Z’ahzi has had, all those sleepless nights where Ardbert would speak softly to him, talk of the day’s events or how proud he is, lips tainted by the way they curled ever so slightly at the corners. It was always a sad smile, one painted with an image of a man who has so much to say, yet swallows against the words all the same.

Ardbert would hold him, then. His hands would be warm, his voice always cheery with the fact they could spend time together. Two souls, intertwined, stuck in the limbo between wakefulness and sleep. Two worlds apart, yet able to connect like this. Through life and death and everything in between, Ardbert was still there. Yet, when morning came, dragging Z’ahzi from this shared, sacred space of theirs, he would always look downcast, sullen and full of a sorrow he never spoke of. 

Now? He’s here, and Z’ahzi’s gut says not to trust it, to run and hide and refuse to smile at the facsimile of his soulmate.

The other part? The other part is currently in his lap, arms wrapped around his broad shoulders as sobs shake through his thin, worn body. He was never a strong man, in the end.

“I missed you,” he breathes, lips moving wetly against the exposed side of the other’s neck. Ardbert holds him steady, his own face pressed tightly, almost protectively, against the side of Z’ahzi’s head. The Miqo’te can feel the short puffs of hair fluttering against his nape, his hair, the way it hitches when hands move - as if the notion of being able to touch, physically and whole, is something near holy and revered. It only makes him cry harder, cheeks stained and eyes puffy. There’s no real reason as to why Ardbert would be back, no true answer besides maybe, just maybe, Hydaelyn gave him a gift. A thank you, perhaps, for halting the Ascian plot.

He thinks too highly of Her, he knows, but if it was truly She who brought back his love ...

Thoughts are broken as thighs shift, the body beneath him moving and pulling back. Z’ahzi blinks in confusion, lifting his head only for a gloveless hand to gently cup his jaw, the touch near burning in the cool space of his room. Ardbert pulls him forward, hushing him cries with a soft, tender kiss, and the gunbreaker melts into it easily, as if they’d done this a hundred, a thousand times before.

Maybe this was their second chance?

“I’m back now. As a _Warrior of Light,_ no less.” His words are mumbled against Z’ahzi’s lips, soft and rumbled and reminiscent of the adventurer he was before the Flood. “Though, I suppose I can say the same about you. It’s good to be home.”

Home. Z’ahzi’s heart clenches, a feeling as if the floor had dropped from beneath him suddenly overcoming his senses. “I thought you gone,” he confesses, pulling away as eyes hold their gaze towards the other man’s own. “I thought all we had was -”

“My last words? The sight of me swinging my axe? As if I could ever leave you wanting.”

 _The dreams,_ Z’ahzi thinks. _He doesn’t remember the dreams._

The Miqo’te stands abruptly, legs shaking with the motion. Ardbert looks at him in concern, blue eyes shining as his arm reaches for him. He doesn’t know what does it, what pushes him to back away from a touch he so desperately needs, but he does just that: he steps aside the outstretched arm.

Ardbert’s eyes darken for a split second before a familiar, sorrow-etched smile takes over his face. “Ah, but of course, you must be exhausted from all of ... _this._ Rest, Ahzi, and I shall return in the morn.”

It takes no more than five steps for the other warrior to be out the door and into the Crystarium, bidding farewell with a promise to return.

Something coils tight in Z’ahzi’s stomach, something he pushes down, down, down, down until only faint traces of unease make themselves known. He needs rest, as Ardbert had said. He’ll be fine once he wakes, he knows.

There are no dreams that night. Z’ahzi wonders what that means.

* * *

  


Z’ahzi goes to bed alone that night, the blanket of stars above shining through the open window. The First isn’t his home, he knows, but with the gentle breeze so blatantly tied to Lakeland rustling his curtains - as if a melody to soothe him to sleep - he’s not so sure it couldn’t be, if he wanted it to.

He’s woken, however, when the door to his chambers is jostled, a soft curse muffled behind the large oak only faintly heard. It’s not like he was sleeping, per say, yet drowsy form lumbers towards the lock, fumbling once, twice, before unlatching the chain and cautiously, carefully, peering outside.

Ardbert stands waiting, a sheepish grin stretched across his face. Z’ahzi blinks, the gears in his head turning before finally clicking together. “Oh,” he says, voice gravelly and tainted with sleep. “It’s you.”

“Promised to be back, right? Wouldn’t miss the chance of actually holding you, for once.”

The door is swung open wide, caution and trepidation gone alongside the tension of the Miqo’te’s shoulders. Instead, it’s replaced with a tired and gentle smile, a hint of teeth gleaming in the moonlight as he ushers in the other man. Ardbert, for all his earlier shyness, struts forward, a matching grin in place.

But his eyes ... there’s something off about his eyes, Z’ahzi notes. They look at him with a hunger he’s never seen, the gleam that haunted his dreams suddenly, without reason, gone. It strikes something inside him, something that tells him, screams at him, to run the other way. _Get out,_ his mind supplies as Ardbert wraps a large, warm arm around his waist. _Go to the others, the scions._ The warrior leans down, his other hand tenderly tracing the soft underside of his chin. _This isn’t right, none of this makes sense._ Z’ahzi’s eyes close without his volition, body sinking into the embrace as fingers tilt his face upwards. _Z’ahzi, run! Can you not hear me? Godsdamn it,_ run!

Eyes flash open as lips touch. The kiss is cold, far more than their previous one. This time, the gentleness he remembers is disguised by a sheen of emptiness, the love and sense of homecoming from earlier now void as the touch lingers. Z’ahzi dares not to breathe, barely even lets his own lips move, but does so in the hopes of something, anything, to spark.

Ardbert pulls away, seemingly unaware. “I remember the first time we did this, you and I, back in your world. Strange to do it now, in mine.”

 _Strange indeed,_ Z’ahzi thinks, numbly nodding along. The other man frowns, the curve of his lips stretching too far down to be considered anything but, before brows fall lax and voice softens, mellows. “When the morrow comes, will you join me in spreading the news of the Warriors of Light? The people of the First _must_ be told. You said so yourself.”

Anxiety churns in the pits of his stomach, gaze drifting to the floor. “Mayhaps I ... wished for more time together, here, in the Crystarium.”

“Then you can have it now, tonight. And forever more, Z’ahzi. We have the rest of our lives, you know. We have all the time in the world - or, should I say, two worlds.”

His laughter sounds genuine, and the warmth that bubbles to the surface of the Miqo’te’s chest is faint and short-lived at best.

 _You haven’t called me Z’ahzi since the Source,_ he thinks.

_I only ever called you beloved here,_ a voice whispers. 

Ardbert lets his arm drop from his chin, moving instead to cup his cheek, his thumb straying over the markings under the other’s eyes. “To think I can do this now, to hold you in my arms and to feel you against my chest ... I’m surprised I could hold it together when you first laid eyes on me.”

His voice dips, the arm around his waist shifting to the small of his back. “Forgive me for the assumption, but would you allow me to take you to bed? I can’t remember the last time I was able to.”

Z’ahzi’s skin breaks out into goosebumps, hair on edge and nape itching with a sudden looming anxiety. Over what, he can’t exactly place, but the nauseating feeling is so potent, the Miqo’te gently shakes his head in answer. “No,” he begins, finally breaking the hold the other had around him. He inches backwards, towards his bed, and offers a tired smile. “Apologies, I think I’m still tired from this whole affair. I would much rather enjoy a night spent in actual rest than your carnal desires.”

Ardbert stalks after him, a rumbled “I’ll show you carnal desires,” before Z’ahzi is being picked up, lifted by the warrior’s brute strength and carried, over his shoulder, the last few steps towards his bed. “And here I believed this would be a reunion! A moment of pining finally ended! You wound me, Warrior of Light.”

Gods forgive him, but Z’ahzi laughs, unchecked and loud. It’s obnoxious and ugly, the sound morphing into something interspersed with snorts and gasps, cackles ringing throughout his chambers. “You cannot fault me for being tired!” He protests, laughter dying as he’s slung onto the bed. Ardbert looms above him with a gorgeous, tender smile flashing in the moonlight. “I may be Hydaelyn’s chosen, but I am _still_ only a man.”

The silence drags on as Ardbert studies him from above, and Z’ahzi’s heart beats louder than it ever has before. “Z’ahzi,” the other begins, the name only a mumbled breath between them. “You look ... You look ... ”

The kiss is different then the rest. This one is softer, pliant lips moving in small, almost skittish increments, as if Ardbert were once again getting a feel for it. Maybe he was. After all, he’s spent a century being unable to touch or be touched in return. Maybe _that’s_ why the others have felt so odd. Maybe he just needs time to adjust.

Ardbert hums against his lips, tongue swiping in a lazy, haphazard manner against them. He does it a few more times, lapping every now and again and humming with each pass. Z’ahzi parts willingly, feeling the bed dip as Ardbert climbs atop him, pressing into the kiss deeper. He can’t focus, head swimming as he tries valiantly to push back, a need to feel the other suddenly overwhelming. Like this it’s easy to forget about the questions piling up, about the unease settling heavy across his shoulders. Like this, Z’ahzi can submit himself, let the taste of the other’s lips and the slick glide of their tongues soothe him and his doubts, his fears. It’s so easy to do, hands coming up to grip the other’s hair, ruffling the brown locks as a knee is placed between his thighs. Eyes are closed - and he’s not sure when that happened - and Z’ahzi thanks the Gods he isn’t looking when Ardbert breaks the kiss and all but growls out a whispered plea of _Gods above, it’s like I can’t get enough of you._

_You could have every ounce of me, if you wanted it._

“Allow me to rest and you shall have more in the morrow.” Z'ahzi promises, hands sliding from the now-tousled locks of the other.

Ardbert sighs, breath ghosting across his spit-slicked lips and sending a chill down the Miqo’te’s spine. “Of course. Best off to bed, then.”

Z’ahzi feels the warrior roll to the side. It takes a moment before the soft clink of armor is heard, no doubt the other _finally_ stripping himself of it all. Eyes stay closed, refusing to open even as a pair of warm, strong arms pull him against an even warmer chest. They stay closed, too, as Ardbert sighs against his neck, content to let his hand lay slung across his hip. By the time the other’s breathing begins to even, Z’ahzi is half-asleep himself, treading that familiar limbo of wakefulness and sleep.

Hazily, he pulls up the thick blankets strewn across the both of them, burrowing closer to Ardbert’s heat. This feeling, he notes, is strange. Being in bed with someone you love, someone you thought you lost for good ... it’s a good change of pace for the life he’s led, that’s for sure.

 _I always wanted this,_ he hears, ears flattening against his head in annoyance. _I always thought I would be able to, in the end._

“You’re here now,” he mumbles, reaching for the arm that lays heavy against his side. “That’s what matters.”

Bitter resentment taints the voice, something akin to anger at its edges. _He won’t get away with this. I promise you, Ahzi. No matter what happens, I won’t let him hurt you._

He falls asleep to the whispers that night. In his dreams, there’s only black, nameless figures and a sense of urgency he can’t quite place; a desperation he has only ever felt once before.

Someone was calling to him.


	2. Ripples in the Lake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’s always been selfish. This time, he won’t be.

He doesn’t talk about it.

The dreamless nights, the tightness of Ardbert’s smile, the way his head feels as if it's splitting at the seams. The pain comes and goes, yet it strikes just the same as G’raha’s calling had. It’s all consuming and debilitating, the ringing in his ears a long, shrill whine as a muffled voice says something Z’ahzi can’t understand. 

When it happens for the fourth time that morning, he decides he’ll talk to the scions about it.

“Come with me,” Ardbert starts, watching from the middle of their chambers. The sun falls in lines across his face, making the blue in his eyes spark to something brighter. If Z’ahzi was in the mood for poetry, he would liken them to gemstones. Yet, even with the morning rays, Ardbert’s gaze lacked the warmth he was used to.

Z’ahzi opens his mouth to speak only to slam it shut moments after. Teeth grit together, his gloved hands clutching at his head. The whine in his ears makes it impossible to hear anything else, the pain rocketing through his skull forcing eyes to close. He tries valiantly to keep one open, watching the warrior shift from pleading to concerned, Ardbert’s mouth shaping the word _Z’ahzi?_

It’s gone as soon as it started, leaving behind an odd sense of emptiness in its wake. 

“I’m alright,” he says, a little out of breath. “Just a little headache. I planned on talking to Shtola and Urianger about it as soon as it got any worse, but I suppose my hands are tied now.”

Ardbert, for all his worth, doesn’t let his disappointment show. “I can’t abandon my duty. If I don’t tell the people of the First about the Warriors of Light, who will?”

 _We can,_ the gunbreaker thinks. _We can when this is all settled. What happened to all the time in the world?_

He swallows. “Then let me join you once this is finished. I’ll only be a hindrance to you, anyway.”

The Miqo’te hopes the sorrow in his voice doesn’t show. Hopes that Ardbert won’t ask about the way his ears droop and tail falls flat against the sheets. He knows, deep down, that the other is right. Hydaelyn gave him a second chance, after all. They both owe Her this much, and to be selfish enough to beg for Ardbert to stay, to take leave of his destiny when this world had just barely begun to heal, seems a task for a lesser man than he.

He’s always been selfish. This time, he won’t be.  
Ardbert’s smile flashes, lips revealing teeth for a split second before they ease into something softer, something gentle. The corners of his mouth are lifted just so, angled in a way that makes Z’ahzi think he’s _laughing_ at him on the inside.

“Then I will no doubt enjoy your company, whenever that may be.”

The Miqo’te swallows down another lump of disappointment. Why? Hadn’t he wanted Ardbert to go on as if nothing were wrong? Too long has he lived as a shade, helpless to do anything but wander. This is something he must do, something Z’ahzi actively encouraged! So why, then, does the act of ignoring his obvious sorrow feel soul crushingly _wrong?_

The gunbreaker forces a laugh, ears perking up as he drags himself from bed. His armor is simple compared to the warrior’s, and by the time he’s fixing the helm upon his head, there’s a knock at the door.

He blinks. That can’t be good.

Ardbert turns, throwing a smirk over his shoulder. Before Z’ahzi knows what’s happening, before he can so much as get out a _let me_ and feet have barely taken three steps, the door is swung open, revealing the shocked faces of his friends.

One face in particular he can’t quite put a name to.

Y’shtola’s always been a bit of a hard reader.

“Ah. I see.” She grumbles, hand shifting to her hip. “I wasn’t aware the Warrior of Darkness had a visitor.”

Z’ahzi’s face burns. He’s glad, in a way, she can’t see the deep rose now dusting his cheeks.

That doesn’t mean the others can’t, however.

“N-No matter,” Alphinaud adds, voice wavering in a barely concealed panic. “Who Z’ahzi chooses to spend his time with is none of our concern. Besides, we came to retrieve him from his chambers. I’d say mission successful.”

Urianger, to his credit, doesn’t say a word.

“Duty calls.” Ardbert - and, _oh,_ he’d forgotten he was there - says on a sigh, shifting his gaze to Z’ahzi. “All in a day’s work, I suppose. No worries, I’m sure we’ll cross paths again, _Warrior of Darkness._ ”

He draws out the name as if it were the last fruit in the world and he a starving man. It sends a chill down the other’s spine, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Ardbert turns to him fully now, extending a hand as if to say _come here._ Who is he to deny a heartfelt goodbye?

They never got a proper one, afterall. He can be selfish. _This_ time.

The goodbye turns into something more and Z’ahzi berates himself for falling into it. His hand had curled into Ardbert’s own, palms meeting and fingers twining. The warrior huffed a laugh before pulling the other into his chest, his free arm immediately cupping the side of the Miqo’te’s jaw. Z’ahzi has only enough time for a small, yelped _Ardbert!_ before lips are on his, stifling any protests.

Eyes close on instinct, body slumping and lips parting. It’s so easy to forget about the world like this. So easy to fall into his warmth, his care, his love. There’s nothing but the two of them, under the morning sun and embracing lazily, tenderly. Z’ahzi’s own free hand reaches up, gently laying over the spot he knows is Ardbert’s collarbone. It’s nothing special, yet the action draws a gasp from the other, lips parting and breaking the kiss.

“I’ll come back,” he pants, forehead leaning to touch Z’ahzi’s own. 

“I know,” he whispers, stepping away from his hold.

Their hands break away, Ardbert giving him one last look before striding out the room, oblivious (or willfully ignorant) of the faces now watching him. 

Z’ahzi has all of two seconds of peace before he remembers where he is. Specifically, who’s in front of him.

“I can explain!”

“I would rather hope you could.” Y’shtola echoes, voice tinged at the edges with annoyance. “We’ll talk about this after we meet with the Exarch. Surely, your... _tryst_ didn’t erase your memory?”

He stays silent. Of course. _Of course._ They were to be discussing the timing of Ardbert’s appearance. He had been so swept up, so relieved to have him back, that he had forgotten their plan of action. 

Ears fall flat and tail droops to the floor. What a mess.

“Let’s get going,” Alphinaud says, tone ilms softer than Y’shtola’s own. “I’m sure the Exarch is tired of waiting.”

“Indeed.” She answers, turning from the door. The others follow, Z’ahzi the last of the group, and as the doors to his room shut he can’t help but feel like a berated child caught stealing sweets.

 _It’s going to be a long day,_ he thinks. _A really long day._

The walk from the Pendants to Ocular is quiet between the four of them, Alphinaud striding forwards with Y’shtola by his side. Urianger strays nearest to him, and in any other situation he may have considered it comforting. Now, however, it feels stifling. Z’ahzi isn’t a man to take failure lightly, as his friends had seen first hand. Mix that with the shame that was welling up inside him, eating at his chest as eyes kept its gaze down, down, down? You end up with a sullen adventurer who would sooner run away to the desert than say _I’m sorry._

He was distracted. _Ardbert_ was a distraction, one they couldn’t afford right now. Not when the lives of his friends hung in the balance. Not when the questions outweighed the answers.

“Thou seemeth troubled.” Oh. Urianger. “ Wouldst thou liketh to confess unto me thy worries?”

Z’ahzi bites his lip, beige eyes finally rising just enough to stare at the back of Y’shtola’s head. “Ardbert. He’s ... I’m putting him above the rest of you.”

The pang in his chest is ignored, pushed down and forgotten for another time.

Urianger hums. “‘Tis expected of one so enamoured. Thine’s regret, however, is not. To have a loved one return to thee as such, betwixt an end and a beginning ... It is a greater love than all the stars combined.”

He wants to say something, anything, in return, yet all that he utters is a soft, barely heard thank you. It seems enough for Urianger, who turns his attention to the stairs leading towards the Ocular. The Miqo’te does the same, head held high and ears straight, tail swinging back and forth as if to shake off the earlier disappointment.

The Exarch, he notes, is waiting for them at the tower gate.

“I see we have all gathered,” he says, red eyes crinkling at the corners as he directs his smile towards Z’ahzi. Another blush faintly crests over his cheeks, throat dry as he awkwardly gives his friend a short, half-hearted shrug. “Come, we have much to discuss.” 

* * *

  


It turns out ‘much to discuss’ meant putting Z’ahzi on the spot.

“From what we have gathered, he is - for all intents and purposes - the Warrior of Light known as Ardbert. However, I cannot help but feel something isn’t quite right.”

The feeling from yesterday returns, the one that makes Z’ahzi’s stomach twist and turn and something vile snake up his throat. “You see it too, then.” Y’shtola replies, shifting her gaze from the Exarch until it lands squarely on Z’ahzi himself. Almost as if she knew he would ask, she continues. “Your aether. You still have Ardbert’s aether merged with your own.”

 _No,_ he thinks. _That can’t be. That doesn’t make sense._

“How,” he manages to croak out, mouth suddenly dry. “If he’s back, shouldn’t his aether be his again? Similar to how it was returned to you and Thancred?”

“In a sense, yes. Obviously, however, he yet resides within you.” Her voice softens at the end, pity etching itself across her features. 

Something clicks and Z’ahzi pushes down the bile that rises to his throat. “Which means -”

“The man you seek doesn’t exist. He is only a facsimile. An impostor.”

He’s not real.

An _impostor._

“No,” his voice is gruff, far rougher than he’s heard himself before. It borders on animalistic, fur bristling as ears sit flat and backwards atop his head. Y’shtola takes a step back, eyes wide at the display. Z’ahzi doesn’t care, doesn’t spare a second thought as he stalks forward, shoulders braced and hand itching for the blade at his back. “You’re wrong. It _has_ to be him." He can't help the way his voice rises, the way he shakes at the seams. "Who else would know everything we’ve shared together?” 

_Except he doesn’t,_ a voice whispers, setting off a growl that rumbles past his lips. _He doesn’t call you Ahzi. His eyes are never warm. He talks of the Source as if that were the last moments you shared together, as if the moments spent a shade never happened. He isn’t yours. He never has been._

“Z’ahzi,” the name barely draws him back to the present, barely stops the tears in the corners of his eyes from leaking. “Z’ahzi,” again, he hears himself being called as if from underwater, muffled and shrill. “ _Z’ahzi!_ ”

Ardbert.

It’s the last thing he hears before the pain spikes in his skull,

Before his world tilts. Before everything goes dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be an interlude ( and rated E! ) as each chapter so far has been over 1900 words. Sorry for the lengthy story! 
> 
> Please share your feedback with me here in the comments or on Twitter @aethertorn.
> 
> Kudos much appreciated! Thank you all so much!


	3. Storm in the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We can talk freely here,” he starts, stopping the questions ready to spring from the other’s lips. “Elidibus can’t hear us.”
> 
> And then softer, quieter, their bodies meeting above an invisible ocean. “I’ve been trying to call you since he showed up.”
> 
> The voice in his head. The voice he couldn’t quite remember.
> 
> _Ardbert._

There was a time when Z’ahzi was a hero. When the world had been saved, Thancred shuffled away to recover, and Minfillia stood proud against the backdrop of a warm sun. When Z’ahzi would smile and wrap his arms over both her and Y’shtola, laughing loud and full when one pulled away and the other pushed closer.

It was so much simpler. He sees them now, as if looking into a mirror of his past. He sees the love and warmth, sees the way he had been younger, less concerned about his friends and more caught up in when he would be off, setting course for home in order to reclaim the title of Nunh. It’s a haunting image, knowing what he knows now. It’s false and subdued, hidden under a layer of sorrow and loss and _please don’t go_ and broken promises never to be realised.

“And to think I wanted to destroy that. For a home that wasn’t mine to save.”

That voice. That _voice._

Z’ahzi whirls around in the empty space, body floating amidst blackened blues and soft hues of purple. His boost trail across an empty lake, the aetherial sea beneath him both full and not. For a moment, he blinks, too stunned at being once again sent to stand before Hydaelyn, only to notice Hydaelyn is missing.

In her stead lies a man the Miqo’te’s body instinctively lurches towards.

_Ardbert._

“We can talk freely here,” he starts, stopping the questions ready to spring from the other’s lips. “Elidibus can’t hear us.”

And then softer, quieter, their bodies meeting above an invisible ocean. “I’ve been trying to call you since he showed up.”

The voice in his head. The voice he couldn’t quite remember.

_Ardbert._

“It was you this entire time?” Z’ahzi frowns, panic seeping into his chest at the thought of not being able to recognise the other’s voice. “I had no idea - I thought - I wanted to believe he was you and I -”

“Being a part of you,” Ardbert breathes, cupping the side of Z’ahzi’s face while leaning down, intimacy on full display. “I can only imagine how _my_ thoughts can feel like your own.”  
Sorrow laces each of his words; an apology for being unable to reach him sooner, no doubt.

“So you picked up a trick from the Exarch to warn me? To help me?”

A breath, a pause. “I didn’t want you to think me returned. Seeing _him_ there, with _my_ body. I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing you hurt.”

 _Because you love me_ is left unsaid.

So is _because I love you too._

In the soft glow, Ardbert looks far more tangible than before. Like this, there isn’t a light to his skin. Like this, his eyes are deep and full of the emotion Z’ahzi has been aching for. Like this, the hands that hold him eye-to-eye are warm and soft, tender even through the leather of his gloves. The Miqo’te’s breath catches, at a loss for words as time spins endlessly onwards.

“I wanted to believe you were back,” he says, lips trembling as tears sting at the back of his throat. “Elidibus, however, is a terrible actor.”

Ardbert laughs at that, quiet but full and hearty. There’s a hint of something pained, like an ache unable to be soothed, in the echo that gets eagerly swallowed by the shallow ripples beneath their feet. “You should say that to him,” he urges, eyes shining. “Let him know you’re done playing his games.”

Z’ahzi pauses then, sheepishly looking away. “Without him,” he starts, nervousness eating away at his words. “You’ll be gone for good.”

The other pulls his face upwards by the gentle touch to his chin, hooded eyes now replaced with something fierce and sure. “No, I’ll be right here, at your side. Like I promised.”

He can’t help it, really, when he surges forwards, feeling weightless as he presses lips to Ardbert’s own. The kiss is uncoordinated and awkward, Ardbert himself shocked to stillness. The touch, for once, feels _solid_ , the familiar scent of worn pages, leather, and that _hint_ of vanilla the warrior always carried suddenly blossoming. Z’ahzi can’t get enough, taking a deep breath as he pulls away, their faces inches from each other.

“You better,” he rasps, voice turned to gravel. “I can’t imagine a world without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to.”

But time is a funny thing, isn’t it? It flows endlessly onwards, and those caught in the tide are simply, blissfully, unawares. 

Until it’s too late.

The sea around them burns into a bright red, orange licking at its heels; a warning that even here, in a realm of impossibilities come true, even their meeting may be limited. _Figures,_ Z’ahzi thinks, swallowing down the lump in his throat, _nothing good can ever last._

His grip settles heavy into the fur of the other’s armor, chest aching. Already, he can feel the pull of wakefulness from the real world tugging him forwards, away. For good, it seems.

“Please,” he asks, desperate like a child and lost all the same, eyes turning to lock with Ardbert’s own. “Tell me we still have time.”

“For you, I’ll always have time.”

“Ardbert,” Z’ahzi starts, feeling his hand drift to the small of his back. “Please don’t go. Not now.”

“I promise,” he breathes, leaning forwards to press delicate kisses to the side of his neck. “I promise.” The Miqo’te easily lets head fall back, turned in gentle submission to the path the other makes across the skin of his neck, his jaw. He refuses to let the tears that spring to his eyes fall, refuses to accept the notion that this is unlikely to happen again. Elidibus walks with a body not his own, speaks with a voice stolen and touches him like an unknown lover. But here? Like this? Z’ahzi feels whole again, chest aflame with love and hands itching to give it in return. 

And it’s all so terribly fleeting.

“Foolish of me,” he breathes, the words broken only by the heavy thickness trapped in the back of his throat. Ardbert continues to press lips to his skin, almost as if he, too, were unwilling to let the chance fade. “To think I could have you again in the flesh.” 

Ardbert doesn’t hesitate to nip at his jaw, a soothing tongue lapping the harshness away soon thereafter. “I’m sorry,” he says just as wetly, his own breath ragged as he staves off the emotions Z’ahzi is sure are torturing him inside. “I never wanted this. If I could, I would strike down any foe if it meant returning to your arms. Elidibus, Hydaelyn, they all mean nothing to me if given the chance.”

 _So this is love,_ the Miqo’te thinks, ears flat against his head. _Sacrifice._

No wonder Elidibus never got it right.

He doesn’t comment any further, instead rolling hips upwards in a desperate, hungry dare as if to say _you have me now._

Ardbert picks up on it, burying his face in the space beneath Z’ahzi’s jaw as his own hips move in response. Time is running out, the Warrior of Light’s awareness growing hazy at the edges. And maybe Ardbert feels it, too, as suddenly hurried hands paw at his belt, the leather pulled free with barely a pause. It’s selfish of him, Z’ahzi knows, to ask this of the other, yet when teeth worry at the skin of his collar, once, twice, _three times,_ he figures Ardbert is just as starved for it as he.

At least they can have this. Even if a part of him longs for the body he knows he cannot have. The one that walks and speaks with all the parts that do not belong to him.

That thought is best kept for another day.

“Ardbert,” Z’ahzi whines, heat coiling under his skin in urgency but mind far away, pulled from their make-believe safe haven. “I can’t -”

“I know,” whispered again, his voice taut with something Z’ahzi can’t quite place. “Let me - Let _us_ -”

A hand slides down his abdomen, palming his cock and sending a jolt he swears feels more akin to electricity than pleasure. He lets Ardbert continue, letting his touch grow firm as he’s pulled free from the loose pants around his hips, body trembling with an anticipation he refuses to acknowledge. The other’s eyes are dark; navy and black, like the sea beneath them as it begins to shatter their illusion. Ardbert presses closer and closer still, a breathed curse tossed to the side as he uses his free hand to yank at his own belts, another _Godsdamn it_ passing on the wind between them.

Z’ahzi laughs, short and quick, before reaching forwards to gently, tenderly, pull the leather from the Hyur’s hips. “There,” he says, ignoring the wide-eyed look the other gives him at the near sleep-like tone. “I think I’ve gotten quite good at mapping out your armor.”

“You only truly touched it once.”

“And I committed it to memory.”

‘Ah, for good reason I hope.”

 _Of course,_ he wants to say. _I never wanted to forget how it felt to be loved by you._

But instead tongue feels heavy against the bottom of his mouth, words dying there as if a graveyard for all the things left unsaid. Ardbert huffs, panting against his neck as he brings their cocks together, finally, and Z’ahzi keens; a prayer sent to Gods who do not answer.

His hand is warm, so warm. It wraps around them without pause or struggle, stroking and twisting just right. It takes a moment or two for the Miqo’te to take in the mumbled whisperings being said, even longer to understand Ardbert was the one talking to him.

“I miss you,” he pants, grip tighter and pace faster. “Every damned day. Every morning when you wake I wish it was I there to wake you. When you sit alone in your room, I wish I could be there like before, wish I could take your hand in mine like I did back in your world, the Source. Nothing kills me more than watching you suffer and being unable to do a damned thing about it. I love you, more than anything, and I promise you won’t be alone. Not now, not ever. I love you, Gods above, _I love you._ ”

The tension in his abdomen blossoms into a fire that seeps even to the deepest parts of his bones. It’s wild and unleashed, abandoned to its nature as it consumes the last ounce of his strength. Body grows taut, fingers digging into the armor and wishing above all else it was flesh and they were in a bed without the pressing notion of time. Z’ahzi knows it's hopeless, lost to the whims of a man clouded by romance and free of the burdens he now carries, but as his body rocks into the other’s touch, hips aching and cock wet with their release, he tells himself he can be selfish.

He always has been. Maybe that’s why he refused to believe who Elidibus really was.

Lips are stolen in a bruising kiss, one that quickly turns soft and tender, loving as tongue licks into mouth and steals away the uncertainty, the doubt. Ardbert is a man of action mixed with emotion, and Z’ahzi is helpless as he soothes away the sorrow that climbs unbidden to his throat.

The background dims, touch now faint and sound distorted. He feels as if underwater, and despite the realisation that time is up, his hands still desperately cling to Ardbert’s frame.

 _I love you, too,_ he thinks, but vision is already dark and the aetherial sea around them fades to nothing.

Something tells him Ardbert already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL *coughs* you all get nsfw lite for the time being. I wanted more lovey-dovey dumbass time.
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @aethertorn. Sorry for the delay! My laptop went into repair and I was busy writing a thesis for college that sapped me of any want to write. But now I'm free! Finally!
> 
> And ooh BOY that 5.3 trailer. Kill me now.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
